


Who's Your Caddy?

by listentotheink



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Golf, Golfer!Harry, M/M, caddy!louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:53:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listentotheink/pseuds/listentotheink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a golfer, and Louis is a caddy. They haven't seen each other in years, but they're more familiar than to each other than they're willing to admit. Sometimes you have to lose to gain. Especially in the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who's Your Caddy?

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've been writing this since May and just finally finished it. I hope you like it!

The wind is light and it only barely ruffles the curls sticking out from the edges of his Titleist cap as he crouches down to look at the elevation of the putting green. It’s elevated to the right so he’ll have to aim just slightly to the right of the hole. The ball will hook, sink and he’ll make par. If he’s lucky, that is. Today hasn’t been his best day. Usually he can par an eighteen hole course, or even go four or five strokes under. But for some reason, his game was off today and he wasn’t quite sure why. But, even PGA players have their off days, so as an amateur, (he couldn’t call himself a PGA player quiet yet, even though his contract was in the works and would be settle by the Masters. That way he could play as a Pro.) he wasn’t too worried about it. But if his game got any worse in the coming weeks, he was going to have to do something about it.

He stands and takes a breath, grips the handle of his putter, pinkies locked around each other, and he lines up his shot about three inches to the right. There really wasn’t that large of a break in the green, so hopefully, hopefully, the few inches would be enough. He takes another breath, keeps his head down, listens to the soft ‘ping’ as he hits the ball, doesn’t lift his head until he hears the ball sink in the cup. But it doesn’t come.

He didn’t use enough power and it rolls to a stop an inch away from the cup. And just like that, his hope for winning this tournament are gone.

 

The next day, against his coach’s wishes, he goes to the driving range. His coach tells him not to beat himself up, everyone has bad days. But Harry doesn’t believe it. He knows that people have bad days, yeah. But he refuses to believe that it wasn’t all his fault that he lost. He refuses to not beat himself up over it. It’s how he’s always operated, and there was only one person that could ever make him stop, and he was long gone. So. There’s that.

He hits a bucket of seventy five with his driver, then hits another bucket of seventy five, switching irons every few hits. His form is perfect, his swing is perfect, the ball goes where he aims. If he can hit like this at the range, why can’t he play like this during a round where it counts? He’ll never get into the PGA if he can’t deliver on the course. And that kills him, because all he wants is to be in the PGA. Golf is all he’s had for the longest time, all he’s ever going to have. All he loves, all he wants, all he needs. So he wants the PGA so badly it hurts.

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to throw out your shoulder.” a voice says from behind him as he swings, turns, and lets his club fall back over his shoulder as he watches the shot. He smiles in satisfaction when he realizes that he’s just hit a hundred and seventy-five yards with an eight iron before he lets the club fall and moves to his golf bag. His agent, Liam is standing there, his arms folded across his chest.

“Hey, Liam.” Harry says with a smile, hoisting his bag over his shoulder and picking up the bucket of balls. “Walk with me.”

Liam rolls his eyes, but follows Harry over to the putting green anyway.

“How many have you hit today, Harry?” Liam asks.

Harry throws twenty five balls into the grass surrounding the green, and another twenty five onto the green. Each has a different distance from the hole. He takes three clubs from his bag.

“Seventy five with the driver.” he says, taking his putter in hand first. “Seventy five with the irons.” he lines up a shot and practices his swing. A perfect pendulum. Equal distance on the backstroke and the follow through. “And fifty on the green.” he lowers his head and hits the ball, the shot sinks and he looks back up again. “So, two hundred? I was going to do two twenty five, but. I’ve been here three hours already. And I’ve still got to do some publicity shit tonight. Press conference that my Agent couldn’t get me out of. He’s such a dick.”

“Complete arsehole.” Liam says with half a smile. “Harry, seriously though. Two hundred and twenty five shots? Don’t you think that’s a bit overkill?”

Harry lines up another shot, looking at the way the green breaks.

“Nothing’s overkill when the PGA wants you on their circuit, mate.” he says, sinking it again. “Nothing’s overkill when you’re playing in the Masters in six weeks. And, really. This is a light day. Normally I hit six or eight hundred. It’s all about practice.”

“Practice is one thing.” Liam says. “Making this your entire life is another. Why don’t you go see a movie or something? Like. Actually have fun? You practice every day. You play four rounds a week. Eighteen holes each. Then another three with nine holes. You need to let loose, just for one night with friends or something.”

Harry snorts. “I don’t have friends, Liam.” He moves to the edge of the green to work on his chip shots and he hears Liam sigh. “Speaking of golf, though. I need you to find me a new caddy.”

“You’re joking.” Liam says, looking at Harry with his jaw dropped. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’s a simple request.” Harry says with a shrug, chipping the ball so it lands on the green and rolls within a foot of the hole. “The last one was shit. I’m sure he’s why I didn’t play well. He was too condescending, and didn’t help me out. Caddies need to know the game as well as the golfers, Li.”

"Harry this is your fourth caddy in three weeks." Liam says, stepping in front of him so he can't take the shot. He looks up at Liam with a glare, silently telling him to move the fuck out of the way. "Don't give me that look you shit! I don't think you know the position you're putting me in right now! Can't you just keep this one until after the Masters?!"

"No." Harry says, shortly. He can't keep this caddy because this caddy isn't going to help him win. Just like the others didn't help him win. He needs someone he can get along with, who knows the game, and gives him advice and words of like.. He shakes his head. "I'm playing the Masters to win, Liam. Find me someone I can win with."

 

The add goes out as soon as Harry announces it at the press conference. It was a surprise for his caddy, but like he said before, he needs someone he can win with. And with three weeks until the Masters, he needs someone fast.

He almost wishes he had... No. He can't think about that. Not when he's playing a three hundred yard hole at a course in Georgia. Nope. That's not something he's going to think about.

Liam is behind him on the golf cart, watching silently as Harry lines up a shot, swings, and lands the ball exactly where he wants. It's different with no pressure. Better, almost. Plus he's with Liam. Someone he knows and makes him feel relaxed. He hops back into the passenger seat, and Liam puts the pedal to the floor, much like a NASCAR driver, stopping in the path right by where the ball had landed.

“Have you had any calls about the caddy job, yet?” Harry says, judging the distance the ball was from the green before selecting a club and taking his shot. He gets back to the golf cart, and Liam shakes his head.

“No one wants to work for you, Harry.” Liam says. Harry straightens in his seat and looks sideways at Liam, confused. Of course people wanted to work for him. He was the best ametuer in England, maybe even in the world. When they had heard he was looking for a new caddy three years ago, they jumped at the chance. There was no way no one wanted to work for him.

“What do you mean no one wants to work for me?” Harry asks. “Everyone wants to work for me. Seriously, Li. How many calls have you gotten?”

“Harry, there haven’t been any.” Liam says again, and this time Harry is genuinely shocked. “You have been firing as fast as you’ve been hiring lately, and no one wants to work for someone like that. I’ve called everyone. I’ve asked everywhere. No one wants the job.”

“But you’re my agent! You’re supposed to find someone for me!” Harry says, rather loudly. He gets a look from a few players on the green across him, and he rolls his eyes.

“I can’t hire if no one wants the job, Harry.” Liam says. “You know that as well as I do. So. For now, we’ll just have to wait it out.”

Harry starts muttering to himself, and doesn’t stop until he gets to the clubhouse and orders himself a pint. Once the cool, clear, bitter taste of beer hits his tongue, he’s relieved a little. And the dim lighting and Arctic Monkeys blaring through the clubhouse definitely helps him mellow out more. But he’s still angry that no one wants to work for him.

“I just don’t get it, Li.” Harry says, taking a rather large swallow of his drink. “Why doesn’t anyone want to work for me? It’s not like I’m an arse like the other golfers on the tour. I’m just me.”

“I’ve already told you.” Liam replies. “You fire as fast as you hire. And right now, in America at least, everyone wants job security. You can’t offer that. Plus, caddies are hard to find to begin with. There’s one that I could call, but I don’t think you want--”

Everything stops when the door to the clubhouse swings open. And it’s like one of those movie moments when the sunlight casts a halo around the person, even though their face stays dark. And Harry just squints his eyes to try and get a better look, but seeing that he won’t get anywhere with it, he spins back around on his barstool, and continues to nurse his beer. Unfortunately, that means that he doesn’t see the newcomer waltz right up behind him. He didn’t know he was even there until he heard an all too familiar voice behind him.

“So, I hear the Great Harry Styles is looking for a caddy.” the voice has a smirk in it,  and Harry can feel the piercing blue eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He’s hoping it’s not who he thinks it is, almost praying, actually. Begging God to give him a break. He’s already playing like shit, does he really need this too?

But God must just like watching Harry suffer because when he turns around, he’s confronted with a man who’s all thighs and tummy and tight trousers and tan and blue eyes, and Harry thinks he might have a stroke. The other man is standing there, with an arrogant smirk splattered across his face (as Harry had suspected) and his arms are folded over his chest. Harry lets his eyes travel over him quickly, and he swears he sees the smirk widen.

“I’m here to inquire about the position.”

“No.” Harry says, it’s a reflex, honest. “Absobloodyfuckinglutley not. They couldn’t pay me enough to even consider hiring you.”

“Aw, come on, Styles.” Louis says, taking a seat on Harry’s right. He hits the bar twice. “Barkeep! Jack and coke. On Harry Styles’ tab, please.”

The girl working at the bar glances at Harry, and he begins to shake his head no. But Louis winks at her and she falters, mixing Louis’ drink anyways.

“I’m not interested in having you as a caddy.” Harry says through grit teeth as Louis sucks his drink through his straw. He locks eyes with Harry, smirks, and licks the top of the straw with the tip of his tongue obscenely before swallowing it down and sucking on it slowly. Harry watches the way that Louis’ throat moves and his trousers tighten. For fuck’s sake. This isn’t supposed to be happening.

Louis sets his glass down and runs his index finger along the rim gently, peers at Harry through his fringe, and glances down.

“Well.” he says, his smirk returning. “If you don’t want me to be your caddy, you certainly want me in your bed. If the tent in your trousers says anything, that is.”

Harry reaches down to adjust himself, and he can feel Liam staring at him.

“Cut the shit, Tomlinson.” he says. “Why the fuck are you here? What exactly are you playing at?”

“I told you why I’m here.” Louis responds simply. “I want the job as your caddy.”

“Been filled.” Harry grunts, hitting the dark, polished mahogany of the bar, asking for another silently. Usually he only allows himself one drink, but today is a special circumstance.

“Now who’s shit talking?” Louis asks with a grin, then he leans across the bar to see Liam. “Has it been filled?” Liam shakes his head, and Harry drops his own to the bar with a thud. Louis hits him on the shoulder and barks out a laugh.

“Then I’ll take it.”

“Absolutely not.” Harry says, his voice weaker.

“Come off it, Haz.” Louis says, and Harry flinches. Harry can hear it in Louis’ tone that he’s getting frustrated. “You don’t just want me. You need me. Know why? I know your playing style better than anyone. Even people who study you. I know your strengths, your weaknesses, how your hands shake if you’re one stroke away from a win. I know every single golf course in the United God Damned States of America, have all of them in binders by state because I’ve studied them. Researched them. Prepared so I would know every single hole before we played it. And I brought you to the most challenging ones to test you. You can and will win with me and you know it and you need a win, because lately, you’ve been playing like absolute shit. So suck it up, pull the stick out of your arse, and hire me.”

“Like I need to hear it from you, too.” Harry grumbles, taking another drink. “I’m already getting it from just about everyone.”

“Harry.” Liam says. “Can I have a word with you?”

Louis raises his eyebrows, smirks, and makes the “okay” sign with his left hand. He then takes the index finger of his right, and moves it in and out of the “o” made by his fingers. Harry flips him off over his shoulder, and Liam rolls his eyes, pulls Harry off his stool and into a private corner.

“You need to give him a shot.” Liam says. Harry throws a look over his shoulder, only to see Louis chatting up the bartender.

“Are you joking me?!” Harry nearly shouts, then he lowers his voice. “You realize who that is, right?”

“Yes, Harry. I do. But right now he’s your only option so you  either give him the job, or you go into the Masters without a Caddy. It’s your choice, but I would go with the first one.”

Harry grits his teeth, and lets out a breath filled with frustration before he turns on his heel and returns to where Louis has sank back onto his stool, smirking.

“You’ve got the job.” Harry spits. “Meet me at the Links Golf Club tomorrow at nine in the morning.”

Louis smirks. “I’ll be there, Curly.”

 

@Louis_Tomlinson: believe it or not, I’m caddying for @Harry_Styles for the Masters! #cantwait #teamstyles!

@Louis_Tomlinson: @Harry_Styles your game is definitely going to improve now ;)

 

Harry hates himself a little more than he usually does the next morning as he steps out of his Range Rover and into the gravel car park. Today, his self loathing comes in the form of him gawking as one Louis Tomlinson approaches him. He’s wearing tight, teal shorts that hug his bum in all of the right places, and a light blue shirt that’s so tight he looks downright sinful. He gets flashes then, and they’re only the most intimate of images. Biting Louis’ soft tummy, rimming him until he cries, sucking him down slowly, teasing until Louis was putty in his hands.. He shakes his head, coming out of his mind and back into the real world as he pops the hatch of his car and unloads his clubs. He’s sponsored by Titleist so they had offered him new clubs, but he refused, favors his clubs he had had in university.

Louis approaches him just as he tightens the laces on his golf shoes.

“Morning, Hazza!” he says, and he’s so fucking cheerful and it’s so refreshing that Harry wonders how he’s gone without him for as long as he has before he yawns. “Late night then?”

“Not even close.” Harry replies hoisting his bag over his shoulder. Louis shakes his head and pulls the bag down, throwing it over his own back. And the way his arms flex looks so fucking delicious, and he looks so fucking perfect and the breeze is ruffling his fringe in just the right way.

“Then why are you so tired?” Louis asks him. “Wanking off all night?”

Harry shakes his head again. “I played eighteen holes of golf yesterday, and then I met this bloody fucking wanker who wants to be my caddy. It was mentally exhausting and I don’t know if that makes today good or bad. Judging by my tiredness and your incessant questions, I’m starting to think it’s going to be a bad one.”

“So, it’s going to be like that, is it?” Louis says quietly. Harry glares. “Taking that as a yes. Alright. Well. I’ve already paid your green fee, and it’s a lovely day. So... I figured we could walk, if that’s alright with you? You have to walk for the masters, so. Best get prepared now.”

Harry lets out a snort and sets off, pulling his glove out of the pocket of his shorts as he goes. He adjusts his hat on his head, and slides his glove on holding his hand out. He silently asks for his driver, and Louis hands him a three wood instead of the one he wants.

“Are you joking?” Harry asks.

“The Harry I know can play a two hundred yard hole with a three wood.” Louis says with a shrug. “If he needs a one, then he’s definitely lost his edge.”

“You’re a twat.” Harry says, taking the club from Louis and teeing up his shot. He goes through his routine quickly, flawlessly. He swings, and grazes the top of the ball, spinning it to the left. He hears Louis choke back a laugh, and throws a glare over his shoulder before teeing another.  They haven’t even played their first hole, and Louis is already being a distraction. Harry has a feeling that this is going to be a really, really fucking long day.

“‘S just a fact.” Louis says, shouldering Harry’s bag as they move down the green to where Harry’s ball lies, nearly two hundred yards away. “Sorry, mate.”

“Well. Obviously. The whole world knows you’re a twat. And don’t call me mate. We aren’t mates. We aren’t anything at this point.”

“What’s wrong, Hazza? Can’t lie in the bed you’ve made?” Louis says, setting the bag down a few yards away. Harry takes a club from the bag and rolls his eyes. “Are you going to talk, or are you going to golf?”

“You’re the one who keeps responding to me.” Harry says, lining up with the ball. He turns his shoulders and sets his feet so they’re angled at the hole, swings and lands it on the putting green.

“Would you rather I shut up?”

“Even if I did, you wouldn’t. So.”

“Glad to see you still know me so well after all this time, mate.”

Harry shrugs. “No one knows you better.”

“Like you’d know.”

Harry rolls his eyes again, and he has a feeling this is going to happen more than he had originally planned.

“Fuck you, Louis.”

“Cheers.”

Harry pars the whole and he tees off at the next, waiting for Louis to shoulder his bag before they move on.

“Surprised you can still carry my bag, Tomlinson.” he says, thinking he’s finally got some sort of power over Louis. But he doesn’t, really. Because he’s completely, bloody fucked as Louis flips his bangs out of his face.

“Hey.” Louis says with a shrug. “It’s all part of being a caddy, even though it’s hard to be a decent one when you’re such a shit golfer.”

Harry is taken aback by that, and he stops in his tracks. ”Excuse me?”

“You’re just not what you used to be, is all. Not saying you’re bad, not saying you’re not. But for the Masters? You’ve got a long fucking way to go, mate.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that, so I’m aware. Thanks.”

“Oh? Has criticism made it through your ego?”

“My ego has never been that bad and you know it.”

He moves to take a club out of his bag, stopping to judge the distance of the hole from where he is right now.

“I don’t even know you, Harry.” Louis says, shaking his head. “But the Harry I know would use a four instead of a three. And. He wouldn’t have put his career in front of anyone else.”

“You’ve got it backwards.” Harry says with half a smile. “All your training slipped away? The closer the hole, the higher the number. The farther, the lower. I need a nine there, slick. I don’t have anyone to put in front of my career anymore.”

“Well that’s just your choice, isn’t it? Just you and your clubs?”

“You’re such an arse.”

“No need for name calling. You need me and you know it, and I could pack up and leave at any point if you don’t stop being a prick.”

“Leaving seems to be a talent of yours.”

“And pushing me away is a talent of yours, love.”

Harry stops, then, puts his hands on his hips and looks Louis up and down before he takes a practice swing. He takes one step closer to the ball and keeps his head down as he swings, hits the center of the ball, and watches it soar to the putting green. Easy.

“The only way this is going to work is if we stop acting like assholes. I’m willing to try, because we’re the “Unstoppable Twosome.”

Louis chuckles, even though Harry can tell he’s trying not to. “Just hit the ball, hotshot.”

“Can’t wait to see how long it takes Twitter to think we’re sleeping together.” Harry replies, absently. “It didn’t take long last time, even though they were true.”

“Do you think you’re ready for the Masters? I mean. You’ve been kind of shit lately. So.”

“I’ve had rotten luck with caddies, if I’m honest.” Harry says with a shrug, teeing off at the next hole.

By the time they get to the ninth hole, it’s been two hours and the temperature has gone up fifteen degrees from when they started. Thankfully there’s a watercooler at each hole, and Louis doesn’t hesitate to guzzle down half the jug while Harry takes his first shot at each tee-off. And, Harry has to give him a bit of credit, really. The smaller lad has kept up with Harry fairly well, for having not been a caddy for nearly three years now. Sometimes the weight of the clubs can put a strain on a person, but Louis just takes it. Shoulders the bag with a smile, and trots along behind Harry, keeping up a pointless stream of chatter and giving him suggestions on what clubs to use, and keeping score. And throwing in ridiculous sex metaphors that include “wood”, “hole in one”, “soften your hands” and “that glove is a perfect fit, innit.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Louis says as Harry sinks the next putt. “For saving you from shit caddies, I mean.”

“Such a twat, Tomlinson.” Harry says with a laugh.

“Caddy abuse! I’ll report your arse, I swear I will!”

“You like my arse far too much to report it, darling.”

Louis crouches down to retrieve the ball from the cup, and Harry tries his damnedest to look away.

“Focus on the ball, mate. Not my arse.” Louis says, as if he has eyes in the back of his head. “You’ll miss your shot if you don’t... but then again. You’re used to juggling balls and my arse, aren’t you?”

Harry barks a laugh, then. And he claps a hand over his mouth. “I used to be.”

“Clubs, balls and my arse. All quite familiar to you.”

“Surprisingly familiar.”

“Maybe that’s why you’ve been so shit. Don’t know how to work a club without staring at my arse.”

“I can work my clubs just fine, thanks. I’ve been getting a lot of practice on my own.”

So far, Harry has either birdied (gone on stroke under) or made par (the amount of strokes it takes to play a hole) at every hole on the course. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like to play this well because it’s been so long, and he thinks he knows why.

He hasn’t had Louis by his side. Not for a long time. And that has affected his playing. He didn’t know why it took him so long to figure it out but. Well. He’s figured it out now. And he’s grateful that Louis is back, truly. And he never thought he would ever admit to it. He likes that Louis challenges him, instead of letting him go with whatever is easiest. Likes that Louis knows the course as well as he does. Likes that Louis will hand him the wrong club just to be a shit, and that Harry will have to correct him with a glare and a fond smile. Likes that he’s still easy to be around. And, well. If Harry likes the way the tendons in Louis’ forearms flex when he moves the flag out of the cup when he needs to putt, he sure as hell doesn’t say anything about it.

“Still have the sex drive of a fourteen year old, then?”

“And no one to help me out.”

“Shame, that.” Louis says with a shrug. “Have I spoiled you? Made it so you won’t take anything less than the best?”

“Something like that.”

Louis laughs and slaps his bum as he walks by, towards the next hole. Harry swats his hand away with a smile.

“Oi! Leave my bum out of this!” he says with a laugh.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for it.”

“Always been hard for it, you mean.”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”

Harry grins. “You know I’m bloody hilarious. Don’t pretend you don’t laugh at my antics.”

“They’re pretty endearing.” Louis replies, looking him up and down.

“You just checked me out.” Harry says with a smirk. “Does this mean we’re mates again?”

Louis takes a moment to consider, and bites his lip in thought as Harry twists his club in between his hands.

“Yeah. Mates.”

 

The next day, he plays a round with his coach. He’s a challenge, but he’s not as big of a challenge as Louis. So, he breezes along, pars the course, and goes home. He gives himself Thursday and Friday off, and only hits two buckets of balls on each day instead of playing a full round. It’s simple, light stuff. Stuff that he needs to do more often, even though playing is what makes him better.

On Friday night, there’s a knock on his door, and he opens it to find Louis standing outside, dressed up like he’s ready to go out. At first, Harry wonders how he knows his address, and then he remembers. He had lived here too, at one point. They both had. But that was quite a while ago, now. In a time he remembers clearly.

“Get your sex trousers on.” Louis says, walking through the door as Harry opens it. “We’re going out. I haven’t been out in ages, and since we’re mates, now. It’s time we go out to the club. You can be my wingman. I’m sure you’ve got some fit golfer friends who are as camp as me.”

“None that I would set you up with.” Harry mutters. “Not in a million years. They’re all pains right in my arse.”

“Still mates with Niall, then.” Louis says, Harry nods in affirmation. “Good to know you don’t push everyone you meet away.”

“Louis.” Harry says, quietly.

“Sorry, sorry. Off topic.” Louis says, waving his hand in the air absently. “Now. Get dressed before I drag you out in what you’re wearing.”

Harry smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You know I can do it, Styles. Don’t test me.”

Harry’s smirk widens, and he tenses his whole body in just the right way so Louis won’t notice it. He knows what’s about to happen.

“I dare you, Tomlinson.”

Louis glares and moves to stand behind him, throwing his whole weight into pushing Harry. He struggles for a minute, and then gives up, and Harry turns to laugh. But just as he turns, he’s met with a hundred and fifty pound Louis crashing into his chest at full speed. Knocked off balance, Harry falls to the floor and has the wind knocked out of him, cracking his head on the tile floor. He groans quietly, not even realizing the compromising position the two of them until he sees that Louis is looking down at him with concern.

“You weren’t supposed to turn around, you twat!” he says, not moving from where he’s straddling Harry’s hips, folding his arms over his chest.

“This looks familiar.” Harry says with a smirk. He settles his hands on Louis’ waist cautiously as Louis looks down at him. For a second, Harry thinks he’s going to lean down and press their lips together, that curves will meet angles and clothes will come off. That they’ll lose themselves in each other and love that he felt was coming back to the surface and... Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Cheeky.” Louis says, quirking the corner of his lips into a lopsided smile. He still doesn’t move. If anything, he rocks his hips forward just a touch, providing friction that Harry had missed. A groan rips through his throat, and that’s when Louis moves, a smirk crossing his face. “Lets go, Curly. If you’re lucky, I’ll even let you have a dance. But only if you wear those black jeans with the duck tape at the knees.”

Harry quirks a brow. “You want me to wear the Blow Job Jeans to a club? Isn’t that a bit dangerous, considering?”

“Harry, Harry, Harry.” Louis says, shaking his head. “I have more self-control than that. Just because the BJJ make your arse look absolutely sinful doesn’t mean I’m going to act on my thoughts, mate.”

“Not the first time you’ve said that.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Louis says, shifting off of Harry and standing up. “Come on, you deserve a night of fun. You’ve been working really hard on the course. One night won’t kill you. And if you wake up with a hangover, just cancel your game tomorrow, yeah? Not a big deal. You need a break before the tournament, anyway.”

Harry stays where he is for a moment and thinks it over before he decides that no. One night won’t hurt. And he deserves it. So he changes into the Blow Job Jeans, and a white scoop-neck t-shirt, and they set out to Tongue & Groove, a night club on Main Street in Atlanta, which is like, a twenty minute drive from his flat. Harry hasn’t really clubbed in a while, so he needs the break. Needs the rush of adrenaline that alcohol and dancing paired with loud music and sweaty bodies dancing gives him, if only for a few hours. It doesn’t take them too long to wait, and before Harry knows it, Louis is handing him his third jack and coke and pulling him out onto the dance floor, slightly intoxicated. He slots their hips together, screams something about “loving this fucking song” and then they’re rocking back and forth to the beat and Harry has his hands running up and down Louis’ thighs, and that’s something he never thought would happen again.

As the song changes, Louis pushes back closer and his head falls back to rest on Harry’s shoulder. Harry groans and he presses closer, loving the feel of the curves against him. Loving the way that Louis is grinding his ass back into Harry’s crotch, giving him enough friction to be sporting a semi, even though they’re in the middle of a club where anyone can see. But, it’s not often that Harry has someone as sexy and absolutely delicious as Louis pressed up close to him. Not often meaning that it’s been two years and Louis was the last one to ever get this close to him.

 

Harry wakes up the next morning naked, with a splitting headache and a weight on his chest that he can’t seem to shake. He doesn’t remember anything past Louis dragging him onto the dance floor, but he blames the headache for that. In reality, he wasn’t that drunk last night. But sometimes, no matter what amount of alcohol he has, his memory kicks off. But he drove them home safely. And got naked safely. And got in bed safely. So he needs more clues as to what happened, because this is a bit like the Hangover for him, if he’s honest. He just wasn’t drugged.

So he looks around the room. The door is kicked closed, there’s a tied-off condom on the nightstand, and an uncapped bottle of lube sitting beside it. Okay. So, he either had sex or masturbated. Typical. There’s also a pair of bright red trousers on the floor, and a head of hair resting on his chest. It takes him less than three seconds to connect the dots.

There’s the moment of panic, and then he relaxes back into the pillows. Because it’s just Louis, and he and Louis have done this before, the drunk sex thing. Albeit they were together the last time it had happened, but still. It’s not like it hasn’t happened, and since Harry’s feelings towards him had started to change... He was thinking that this could be a good thing for them. He tucks his hands behind his head, then. Decides to let the older man sleep a little longer before confronting him about what had happened. And he thinks.

 

Harry met Louis at a golf camp when he was fourteen. Louis was sixteen and his uncle owned the country club that the camp was held at. Harry knew him as “the pretty boy who worked and read books at the counter of the pro shop.” He had fringe and bright blue eyes and a blindingly white smile, and sometimes he wore glasses (and that was just so fucking endearing and adorable that Harry found himself fangirling over the boy’s mere existence). And while others teased him for not playing golf when his uncle owned a course, Harry was completely intrigued by him. He wanted to know the boy better. So he would tell his mum to pick him up a couple hours after he had finished, and he would order lunch in the clubhouse and chat with him. And it was easy and fun and Harry felt like he had known Louis for his whole life instead of just a few weeks. And it was amazing, because Louis was the kind of friend that Harry had always wanted.

And it wasn’t long before Harry had started to develop feelings for the older boy. Especially when Louis had admitted that he was gay to Harry. Harry wondered, though. Before he admitted his feelings. Wondered if the boy would laugh at him, would push him away, or would pull him close. Or if he even felt the same. Harry didn’t really have any other friends to talk to about it. And he didn’t tell his mum because she was homophobic. So he was alone and figuring it out by himself. And it wasn’t easy when you were only about to be fifteen. It was confusing and scary and there were days when Harry really wanted to kiss Louis, but shied away at the last moment and turned his face, making a silly comment about the weather or summat to get Louis to laugh. He never saw the disappointment on Louis’ face, though.

A few days before his fifteenth, they had been texting each other all day, writing cheeky comments and responding in the same fashion. When, out of nowhere Louis asked him his address. Harry, of course, gave it to him, and Louis was parked in his driveway in ten minutes time. He was laughing about how they had lived two streets apart their entire lives and never knew about it.

They go to Nando’s, and then a shopping centre, Louis treating because it’s his birthday gift to Harry. So Harry gets a new golf shirt, a couple of CD’s, and a stuffed bear because Louis insisted. It’s a proper girls day, and it ends with them sitting in the park, looking up at the stars. And Louis mutters something about how small they are in the grand scheme of things, and how it seems like so much time has gone by but in the entire life of the universe, it’s been absolutely nothing.

And the thing is, Harry agrees that yeah, they’re really fucking small. But when he’s laying next to Louis on the pavement to avoid the snow, he doesn’t feel that way at all. He feels like the biggest, most important person in the world, and that’s enough for him. At least until Louis rolls on top of him, their frames aligning from head to toe, and Louis’ lips press against his softly, hesitantly, before he pulls back.

“Happy birthday, Hazza.” he whispers, and Harry pulls him back in.

When spring comes around, Harry was absolutely aching to get back onto the course. He smells the spring air, and he knows. He just knows that it’s time to play a round. But the ground isn’t dry enough yet, and he’s impatient as all hell, so the driving range will have to do for now.

Louis insisted that he go with Harry because they were “boyfriends and that’s what boyfriends do.” So, he picked Harry up and they go golfing and that’s how it works for quite a long time. Golfing and stealing kisses in between complaints from Louis about how heavy Harry’s golf bag is (“you’d think there’s a body in here or summat, Haz. Christ.”). And they’re careful, so careful, not to get caught.

And they make it a year. A whole year before Harry’s mother walks in on the two of them on Harry’s birthday. They were shirtless and snogging, and she simply tells him to pack his stuff and get out. Louis has turned eighteen by then, so Harry has somewhere to go so he’s not completely alone, but after that happened, he completely threw himself into golf. Not only that, but he started to win every single round he played, no matter who he was up against. Louis was by his side the entire time, and they were a force to be reckoned with.

When he was eighteen, he was approached by Liam, his agent now, and was told that he had potential and that he should move to Georgia so he can play golf all year. And nothing sounds better to him then that, but he had to think about Louis too. And he did, at first, he supposes. Because it wasn’t easy for Louis to swallow. He was twenty and at university with an established job and friends, and Harry was asking him to leave all of that and follow him to America. And it nearly ended their relationship a few times before Louis had finally said “If moving to America helps me keep you, then start looking for flats. I’m coming with you, always.”

So they moved to America and Harry played golf every day while Louis studied at school, and it works for a while before it started to take it’s toll on Louis. Harry would come home in the late afternoon, sometimes early evening, depending on what time he had gone out on the course and Louis would be watching footy, or FaceTiming with his sisters. He would hang up almost the instant Harry appeared in the living room, and when Harry went to sit with him, he would get up, saying he had laundry in the wash or making an excuse to not spend any time with Harry, who should have seen what was coming. Louis distanced himself, they never made love, and Harry seemed to wake up alone more than he ever had when they had lived together in England.

It was their anniversary when it happened. Harry was all ready for a day out on the course when Louis had come to stand in the door of the bedroom.

"You're golfing today?" He had asked, his voice quiet, softer than Harry has remembered. Probably because they had fallen into an uneasy, unspoken silence between them.

"Yeah." Harry said, putting his belt on. "Just for a quick nine. I'll be back soon."

"It's our anniversary." Louis said, still quiet. "I thought we could spend the day together? You know. Just the two of us, lazing about like we used to."

He's slid his hands around Harry's waist by then, locked his arms around him, and is looking up into Harry's eyes with this look. Something Harry hadn't seen before, really. It was like tired mixed with sad mixed with fond, and Harry can't help but kiss him proper.

"It's just nine holes, babe. I'll be back in two hours and we can have the whole day."

Louis pulls back sharply, then. Harry instantly gets confused, and follows the man out into the kitchen, where he's pouring himself a glass of water with a shaking hand.

"Babe?" Harry asked. "Babe, talk to me? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Harry. It's fine. Go play golf or whatever. Don't worry about it."

"I'm obviously going to worry about it when you're so upset about whatever is going on that you can't pour yourself a glass of water. Talk to me."

"I don't want you to go golf today." Louis spits. "Okay? That's what's wrong. Ever since we've moved you've been out golfing every day and we haven't had any time together and the one day I want to actually have a lie in, you can't because you have golf."

"You know I'm training for the PGA, Louis."

"Missing one day, our anniversary isn't going to fuck up your training, Harry! You know that."

"I can't just not show up. It's nine holes. Short ones. Won't take more than two hours."

"No, it's nine holes then drinks and lunch and shooting the shit with all of your friends you've made while I've sat here and got no one! While I'm alone. For Christ sakes at least home I had a cat!"

"Is that what this is about? You don't have a cat so you feel lonely?"

Louis pulls his hair angrily.

"No! This is about you putting golf before me every day of the fucking year while I sit home alone the majority of the time because you "don't need a caddy when you're practising." And it sucks and I just want you to pick me one time!"

"Lou.."

"Don't fucking 'Lou' me, Harry. If you walk out that door to golf, I swear to God I won't be here when you get back."

"You're being ridiculous." Harry says, rolling his eyes. He picks up his keys, shoulders his golf bag. "I'll see you in a couple hours and then we can do whatever you like."

And he left.  And by the time he realized how stupid he was being and returned home, Louis was gone.

 

Louis shoots awake just as Harry rolls on his side to look at him. He literally shoots up from where he was sleeping and pulls his knees to his chest.

“Good morning?” Harry questions.

“Fucking shit.” Louis responds. He runs his hands over his face and Harry reaches out to rub a hand over his back out of instinct before he realizes that Louis is going to flinch away. “This isn’t supposed to be happening. Damnit. Shit, shit, shit. I’ve gotta go.”

He starts getting dressed hurriedly, and Harry rests a hand on Louis’ shoulder. Louis freezes immediately, and Harry wonders what’s happened. What happened to his Louis that was always so soft and pliant under his touch, who melted into him when he grabbed his hand. And then he realized that it was him. Harry happened.

“Louis..” he says.

“Don’t touch me.” Louis whispers, his voice dangerously low. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage already?”

Harry recoils. “You’re the one who dragged me out and came home with me last night! You.. you knew this was going to happen. And you’re mad at me! Why are you mad at me? I’m fucking sick of it, Louis!”

“I’m not always mad at you!” Louis shouts, folding his arms over his chest.

“Well, you have some sort of bitter resentment towards me and I’m sick of it! It’s been years, Louis! And I’m still in love with you and you wanted it, last night. You were fucking begging for it and I was hoping that. That..”

“Spit it out you bloody coward.” Louis says, his voice laced with venom. “Go on.”

“I was hoping that.. we could start over. Give us another go.. I miss us. I miss what we were.”

Louis laughs, then. Doubles over with the force of it.

“You. You must be joking!” He says, wiping a tear out of his eyes.” Harry’s heart shatters. “You think we can start over? Are you thick? After what you did to me?”

“Oh, here we go again.” Harry says, throwing his hands into the air. “It’s always my fault, isn’t it?!”

“It is all your bloody fault!” Louis says, pointing a finger at him. “I gave up everything I had to follow you halfway across the world! I left my family, my friends, the only life I ever knew because if you said jump, I would as how high and you knew and you took advantage of it and all but left me when you got here! And for what? So you could go golfing every day with friends that you made at the clubhouse. Didn’t even really ask me to go until months after we moved here and it’s because I made a fuss about it! Christ, Harry! You acted like you didn’t even want me around and I didn’t have anyone but you. God forbid I wanted to join you and do something we both love. I love golf. I love watching you play. I love being a caddy for you but you just never wanted me around. Do you know how that feels?”

Harry opens his mouth to reply but Louis cuts across him.

“It feels like shit, Harry! It feels like absolute shit, and when we split up.. I went back to England, and everyone just laughed at me and shouted “I told you so” at me on the streets, so I left again. I couldn’t stick around being the village idiot. So I left and I came back here and I swore to myself that I wouldn’t try to find you and then I was flipping through the channels and came across golf and there you were. So beautiful and tall and so fucking fit and I wanked off in the shower with the thought of your lips on my cock because I am still so fucking in love with you I don’t know what to do with myself. Then I heard you needed a caddy for the Masters. So.. I got it into my head that if I started back up caddying for you, it would give me the closure I needed. But it didn’t. All it did was make me fall for you even harder and it sucks because I can only see trying again ending badly. I’ll stay through till the Master is over. But after that. I’m leaving. I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry.”

He slips out the door quietly, then. And Harry sits with his head in his hands, tears falling down his face.

He’s such an idiot.

 

The Masters stars on a warm day with just a touch of a breeze, and Harry is nervous. Well. As nervous as he usually is, mixed in with a bit of sadness, and a bit of hope. It’s the first day of a seven day stretch. Eight thousand yards of golf are about to be played. Not that that’s anything different than what he’s used to. But still. It’s the Masters. The biggest tournament he’s ever played in.

So if his hands shake while he warms up on the driving range and waits for Louis, it’s not his fault. But when he goes to lean on the gate outside the course and misses. Well, that’s Louis fault because Harry had totally forgotten how he looked in his caddy uniform. The white made the tan he’s gotten over the past few months even more obvious and the white trousers cling to his bum and show off his curves so well, Harry doesn’t want him to wear anything else ever again.

“Good morning, Harry.” Louis says quietly. Things have been a bit more cautious since the morning after they went out. A bit more quiet, more reserved. Not much talking, really. Just, them, silence and the golf course.

“Hey, Louis.” Harry says with a nod. He fixes his hat so it settles over his curls as Louis picks up his bag for him, and they walk to the clubhouse to see where they’re starting.

“Nine.” Louis says. “The back nine. Not too horribly long, I suppose. It’s four hundred and sixty yards. Nearly a straight shot but there’s trees on either side so you’ll have to make sure you’re aim is right… But you know all this, don’t you. I’m just rambling out facts you already have playing in your head.”

“You’re my caddy. It’s your job.” Harry says with a soft smile. He walks over to the golf cart that’s going to take them to the hole and sits on the back. Louis takes the seat next to him, and the driver takes off. “And… I like the sound of your voice. So. You can keep talking, if you want. I don’t have a problem with it.”

Louis nods. “It’s a par four. So you’re definitely going to want to get the ball to the green with the second stroke. You need to really watch your short game this time, Harry. That’s going to make all the difference. And there’s two sand traps to the left of the hole, so watch out for those. I know you’re a bit shit at sand traps.”

“Heeeeeeey.” Harry says, still quiet. He wrings his glove between his hands and hears Louis sigh.

“Harry.” he says. He reaches and takes Harry’s hand. “It’s just another round of golf, okay? Just another round. Not a big deal.”

“It’s the Masters, Louis.” Harry says as they approach the hole. “The biggest of four major golf tournaments.”

“Like I said. Just another round.”

“Oh, fuck.” Harry mutters when they get off the cart. There are people standing around the tee off, and Harry can barely see the group that’s standing at the green on the end. But that’s not why he’s cursing. He’s cursing because he’s playing in a group with his best friend Niall, and Tiger fucking Woods. He’s playing a round of golf with fucking Tiger Woods.

“Oh. My. God.” Louis says quietly. Harry grips his chest as the golf cart speeds away, and Louis grabs onto his arm. “Harry, Harry. Look at me please.”

Harry meets his eyes, and Louis draws circles on his arm with his thumb. How he still knows how to calm Harry down after all this time is amazing.

“It’s just another round of golf, yeah?” Louis says quietly. “Just another round. You’ve played with Jack Niklaus and Phil Mickelson. This is no different. He’s just a player, like you and Niall. Okay?”

“But it’s Tiger Woods.” Harry moans. “He’s only been my idol since I was twelve. And now I’m playing a round with him and that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“So consider it a dream come true and go play your game, yeah?”

 

By Saturday, Harry is in third. He’s behind Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson. So, all in all. He’s not doing to bad.

 

Sunday is awful. Well. It’s not completely awful. There’s just wind coming in from the east, so it makes his game a bit more difficult. The wind is carrying his ball more than he thought it would, and at the first hole it sends it right into the trees on the right. Louis keeps whispering “aim left” into his ear and he’s trying, he’s aiming as far left as he can but it’s just not working and he’s so upset he could cry. But Louis is there, and that helps. It really, really helps and he had forgotten how crucial he was to his everyday life. How he had even managed without him was a complete mystery, but he swore if he won this tournament and if Louis ever said yes to another chance, he was going to slow down a little. Take more time for himself, maybe go back to England and see his mum.

“Harry, it’s the last hole.” Louis says quietly. “You’ve got this. I believe in you. You can do it. You can win.”

“Do you know what the leader boards are?” Harry asked. Louis nods. “And?”

“I’m not going to tell you just yet.” Louis replies. “Not until you sink this hole. You can do it.”

They’re finishing off at the second hole. A five hundred and seventy five yard monster that was completely downhill, had four sand traps, and a tree line on either side. It’s a par five, and the average score for everyone who’s played this course is a six. According to Louis’ binder, anyway. Louis seriously has a binder for each course, it’s insane.

He steps up to the tee off and everything disappears. The treeline disappears, Louis disappears. He can only see the red flag at the end of the yards and yards of grass separating them. The wind stops.

He lines up his shot and takes a practice swing before he hits. And when he does, it’s a sweet sound and the ball soars through the air, landing a good three hundred yards away, perfectly straight. He sends up a prayer to God, and Louis walks over to him, hits his shoulder gently as they start to walk.

His words are on repeat in Harry’s head.

You’ve got this. I believe in you. You can do it. You can win.

 

It’s dark on the course when he steps out. There’s a bit of a light from the moon coming through the trees on either side of him, dancing in and out of the leaves. It’s been a week since he won the Masters, and the green jacket he had been aspiring towards since he was young fits him like a glove. That’s why he’s back here, actually. To get the jacket and go home. But. He just couldn’t stop himself from walking back to the putting green of the second hole. Couldn’t stop himself from remembering. Couldn’t stop himself from hearing the claps as he finished the hole, one stroke under. The whispers that Tiger, Mickelson and Niklaus had all gone two over on that hole. The mumbles that he was in the lead.

Can’t stop himself from feeling Louis’ lips on his as he launched himself into Harry’s arms when they found out for sure that he had won.

“Green is a good color on you, Styles.” a voice says from behind him. He grins and turns. “You better be careful, though. You look so good in it, I might have to rip it off and fuck you right here.”

“Don’t you dare!” Harry says with a laugh. “I’ve been working for this since I was fourteen!”

Louis has reached him by then, has his arms wrapped around his waist with a smile. Harry leans down and presses a soft kiss to his lips.

“Don’t I know it?” Louis says, smiling with a sigh when Harry pulls away. Harry rests his forehead against Louis and closes his eyes.

“Now that I’ve been named best golfer in the PGA, at least for a while,” he says. “I was thinking that you and I go on holiday, hm? Anywhere you like. How’s that sound?”

“You’re serious.” Louis states. Harry nods against his forehead. “Anywhere I like?”

Harry nods again.

“Then..” Louis says. Harry opens his eyes in time to see Louis bite his lip. “I really, really want to go home. To Doncaster for a little while. Just to see mum and the girls. And your mum and Gem… Is that okay?”

Harry smiles. “That’s perfect.”


End file.
